


An Early Autum Night's Dream

by Lady_Angel_Fanwriter



Series: Richard and Vivien Eng [1]
Category: British Actor RPF, Richard Armitage - Fandom
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Love, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 17:26:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6997753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Angel_Fanwriter/pseuds/Lady_Angel_Fanwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm a big fan of Richard Armitage, as I'm of other actors, and sometimes it happens that I dream about one or the other – never enough! LOL; but it never happened to me to experience such a vivid and detailed dream, and to be obsessed about it for days. In the end, I decided to make it into an one shot story to try and find release: maybe, sharing my thoughts, I can calm down, my hormones are still steaming! LOL<br/>Of course, I elaborated a bit the plot of my dream, extending and developing it, because many things – as usual in the dream world – were implied or omitted, such as: what am I doing in London? Why is Richard at my place? How did we meet? Why does he take me to a party? And so on.<br/>The result is this story with no much sense, but I hope anyway enjoyable. For sure, I enjoyed my dream very much! XD<br/>It was good fun to put it down in black and white; I hope reading it will be as much fun for you. ;-)<br/>WARNING: very sweet romanticism with a very SPICY ending! XD</p><p>P.S.: English is not my native language and this story hasn’t been yet beta-read by any English-speaking person, so please forgive the mistakes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Early Autum Night's Dream

 

__

Richard made a face reading the elegant ivory coloured card.

“What happens?”, Vivien asked him, stirring her cold hibiscus tea. He lifted his gaze, and as usual his eyes, of a blue shade so light to blend into grey, enchanted her. It had been those eyes, the first time she saw him on the big screen, which had literally charmed her. The eyes, and his wonderful baritone voice, so terribly sexy.

Richard Armitage was a renowned television and movie actor; five months ago he had moved exactly in the house next to hers, in the elegant Victorian district of Notting Hill and, when Vivien recognized him as the actor who performed Thorin Oakenshield in the worldwide movie success _The Hobbit_ , she almost fainted right on the spot. She had long hesitated to speak to him, fearing he was the classic arrogant celebrity; instead it was him the first one to greet her, one day seeing her in the garden trimming her roses, of which she was very proud, treating her with such an affability and spontaneity to disarm her. And getting her fall desperately in love with him at first sight – well at second one, as she already gave him the first one at the theatre and already lost her head.

“I hate to go on formal parties”, Richard explained, handing her the card so she could examine it personally, “but I’m afraid that I can’t avoid this one, because they appointed me with an illustrious prize.”

Vivien took the card and read the golden writing: _The Royal London Cinematographic Society has the pleasure to inform you that you won the Prince Charles of Windsor Prize for your performance as Thorin Oakenshield in the movie “The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey”. The dinner with the award ceremony will be held on Saturday 25 th at 7.00 p.m. at the Royal Cinema Hall and will be followed by a ball._ It was signed by _The President Emma Nightingale_.

“Wow!”, gasped Vivien, “The Prince Charles Prize! The equivalent to the American Oscars… You should be proud of it!”

“And I am”, Richard assured her, setting down the glass from which he had taken a sip of the infusion, “pretty much. The problem is that I hate the formality of such party types, where you mandatory must wear a black tie… Men in a dinner jacket and women in an evening gown and so on. And then I’ll be forced to make a thanksgiving speech, and I never know what the heck to say apart the customary banalities…”

Vivien laughed:

“An actor short of words? I can’t believe it!”

Richard wasn’t certainly shy – not with his job – but his customary modesty made him detest to show off, except on a stage or set. Beyond his good looks and notoriety, it was _this_ which really made her fall in love with him: the man behind the actor. Funny, cultured, smart... and terrifically sexy.

Richard laughed, too:

“I’m talking seriously! Apart of _I’m very honoured, I thank you sincerely_ , I really don’t know what else to say without appearing a complete idiot.”

“Oh, come on!”, exclaimed Vivien, this time on a reprimanding tone, “It’ll enough you’re frank. Set aside all bog-standard speech and let yourself go, be genuine and spontaneous: you’ll win them all over.”

He looked at her intently and Vivien, as usual, melted under that gaze which was able to pierce her through.

“Come with me”, he said. The glass almost fell off her hand as she widened her eyes, flabbergasted.

“If you’re there, I’m sure I’ll make an excellent impression”, Richard went on, bending toward her and reaching out to take her hand and intertwine his fingers with hers, “because you’ll inspire me.”

Vivien put down her glass very cautiously. Her hand trembled.

“Richard… this would mean to let the whole world know about us”, she remarked.  

After two weeks since they had begun to say hello to each other and to exchange some words from the respective gardens, Richard invited her for a tea. Incredulous, she needed some seconds before rushing into agreement – of course! She wouldn’t refuse even if aliens from Mars would land on Earth! – and she showed up with her heart racing, taking with her the ginger cookies for which she was popular among her friends. After that tea, a dinner invitation had followed, in a little Greek restaurant not far from where they lived, and then she invited him to go together and watch the last Star Trek movie, being both fans of that science fiction saga. There they had been paparazzi-ed for the first time, and on the next day pictures of them together were released on tabloids with the title _Who is Richard Armitage’s new sweetheart? Mysterious brunette accompanies the renowned actor to theatre_. They laughed about it having tea and cupcakes, with Richard who complained hilariously about the fact that each time he occurred to went out with someone, even another man, immediately all speculated about a love story. Vivien almost died laughing when, with great sense of humour, he told her about the conjectures on a supposed relationship between him and Lee Pace, his colleague on _The Hobbit_ , with whom he had become well befriended; as both were heterosexual, the idea made them split their sides laughing.    

But after another couple of outgoing – another dinner, this time at Vivien’s favourite Italian restaurant, her mother being native from Italy, and a visit to Kensington Palace, which Richard had never seen and where they were again paparazzi-ed – they had stopped laughing, because they got together for good. Richard had himself declared to Vivien, stating he had fallen in love with her at first sight; Vivien almost fainted in emotion, and then again as he kissed her the first time. She remained stunned and incredulous for weeks, even after they became lovers – which happened three days after Richard’s declaration – and to tell the truth, she wasn’t sure even yet, after two months, that this was all true and not instead just a long, marvellous dream.

Richard asked her to keep their relationship a secret as long as possible, because he wanted to enjoy a bit of privacy, which as an actor and therefore a celebrity it was denied to him; she accepted, talking about him only to her closest friends and to her parents, who lived in Brighton, but never mentioning his name, being so mysterious that somebody thought she had a clandestine relationship with a married man, what she obviously denied, but without being maybe completely persuasive.

“Sooner or later we’ll be anyway caught”, Richard pointed quietly out, “and besides, I tell you I had come to the point in which I want to let the world know what a lucky man I am.”

She blushed. Richard’s compliments had _always_ that effect on her.

“Well, if you’re sure…”, she whispered. He lifted her hand to his lips.

“Absolutely sure”, he said, kissing the tip of her fingers, one by one. Vivien shuddered, feeling her feminine depths tingle. This, too, was one of Richard’s constant effects on her: to ignite her desire for him with a simple gaze, a gesture, an apparently innocent phrase.

“I’ve got no evening dress”, she murmured faintly. Perfectly aware of her reaction to his attentions, Richard looked deep into her eyes, while he turned her hand and kissed her palm, brushing it lightly with the tip of his tongue. 

“We’ll do some shopping then…”, he said in a low tone, then he stood up and drew her in his arms.

“Yes…”, she breathed, before he bended kissing her profoundly. Goodness, was he tall… almost 6’2” against her 5’2”. In his strong arms, she felt small and fragile, but Richard was so tender and protective, even at the peak of passion, that she always felt safe.

*   *   *

“Where can I buy an evening dress without bleeding dry?”, asked Vivien. She was on the phone with Vanessa, her best friend, one of the few who knew she was with a man whose name she could not tell openly, for the moment. Vanessa, too, was a fan of Richard Armitage, and Vivien wondered how she would react once the news would spread, within a couple of weeks.

“It depends”, answered her unaware friend, “Do you want something from the store, or more tailored?”

“Tailored”, decided Vivien. She _could not_ show up at that party with a dress from Harrods or Selfridges, even if a beautiful one. In an atelier she would pay more, but it was worth: it was her first official exit with Richard Armitage and, metaphorically speaking, _everybody_ would make her not only a radiography, but also a CAT and an MRI; and not only the persons attending the party, but also Richard’s fans – who called themselves _The Armitage Army_ – who the next day would see her on the tabloids and on YouTube.

“Then I recommend Jenny Parton’s boutique”, suggested Vanessa, “my theatre company’s tailor. She’s very good and has honest prices.”

Vanessa was a successful lawyer, but she was also a brilliant amateur actress since high school.

Vivien made a note of the address: the day after, she and Richard planned to go and look for an evening gown.

“You aren’t to go to the Queen’s ball, are you?”, Vanessa joked.

“No, but almost”, Vivien answered, with a ravishing smile: after the first moment of incredulous stupor, now the idea to coming out on her love story with Richard excited her.

“Come on, tell me!”, Vanessa urged her, intrigued.

“My man invited me to an elegant party”, Vivien answered.

“Really?”, the other chimed; she wasn’t among those who suspected a clandestine relationship, however Vivien’s discretion on her lover’s identity puzzled her, “When will you finally tell me who he is?? Come on, I’m dying with curiosity!”

“You’ll know in a little time”, Vivien revealed, “Bide your time another couple of weeks.”

“What a bore! I don’t understand all this mystery!”, protested the other one, frustrated.

“You’ll understand it when you’ll know who he is”, Vivien replied.

“Come on, give me a clue!”, Vanessa begged.

“He’s a famous person”, Vivien answered, “and he made me promise to keep the secret to enjoy our story quietly for a bit. But now he changed his mind and he wants to state publicly our relationship. He was very romantic… he said _I want the world to know what a lucky man I am_.”

“Ooohh…”, her friend sighed, and Vivien chuckled imagining her with heart-shaped eyes, like a cartoon, “Very romantic indeed… but now I am more curious than ever! Come on, tell me more!”

“He’s tall, dark-haired and blue-eyed”, answered Vivien, enjoying pushing her a little bit more.

“Interesting, but it wasn’t what I was asking for!”, muttered Vanessa, disappointed. Vivien laughed:

“I’m sorry, but till the right moment you won’t get any more out of me. Thanks for the tip about Jenny, I will surely go to her.”

She didn’t tell her that he would accompany her to buy the gown, otherwise Vanessa would immediately turn the screw on her acquaintance to learn who he was.

“All right, you _awful_ wench!”, Vanessa cried in a fake tone of exasperation, “I respect your discretion, but when I’ll discover who he is, you’ll hear from me!”, she threatened her jokingly, “See you soon, dear, and have fun at that party!”

*   *   *

Richard met Vivien when she finished working for the day, as agreed. She gave him the address of Jenny’s atelier, at Mayfair, which they hadn’t trouble to locate using the GPS. Finding a place to park required some minutes, but finally they entered the shop, furnished with a refined taste but not excessively luxurious. 

“Good afternoon, madam, sir”, the clerk welcomed them, a pretty blonde with a freckles covered nose which gave her a pleasant appearance; she gave Richard a better look and an expression of recognition passed on her face, “Am I wrong or you’re Richard Armitage?”, she asked, widening her eyes. _That’s more or less the same expression I had when I recognized Richard as my neighbour_ , thought Vivien, unable to prevent herself but feel amused.

“Yes, it’s me”, Richard admitted nonchalantly, “but I’m here undercover. I accompany this lady to buy an evening gown.”

“I understand”, the blonde said, composing herself again and regaining her professional behaviour, “My name’s Lauren. Do you have already something in mind, madam?”, she asked.

“Easiness”, Vivien answered immediately, “Nothing too decorated, no inguinal rips or abyssal necklines.”   

Lauren nodded: she liked working with someone who knew what she or he wanted. Besides, it would be a pleasure to dress the lovely hourglass-shaped figure of this customer.

“I think we have got what suits you…”

She led them to a little parlour and offered them some tea, then she left for a couple of minutes. When she came back, she brought three gowns; Vivien eyed immediately one of them, in emerald-green silk, her favourite colour. Lauren noticed that she had focused on it and showed it as first one: it was asymmetric and had only one shoulder strap, a tight bustier and a not too wide skirt. The second one was black and Vivien shook her head: she wasn’t a great lover of that colour and anyway she thought it too exploited for the evening time. The third one was red, a colour she considered too excessive for the circumstance.

Lauren took away the two discarded dresses and came back with other two, one ultramarine with a siren shaped skirt and a lace covered décolleté, the other one amethyst, a neckline which left the shoulders completely uncovered like Napoleon III style.

“Good heavens, they’re all gorgeous…”, Vivien murmured, really embarrassed about the choice.

“Try on them all”, suggested Lauren, wisely, “So you can choose the one which persuades you the best once on.”

Vivien did as the clerk had suggested; as first, she tried on the green dress, which suited her charmingly, even if it was a bit too long, but it was her who was a little shorter than average. It would not be a problem, anyway, because the atelier could fix it before the delivery, as Lauren quickly informed her.

As soon as Vivien came out of the fitting room and moved toward him, Richard caught his breath and his jaw almost fell on the floor.

“You’re gorgeous…”, he exhaled, enraptured. He saw her smile while blushing tomato-red: he adored when she did so, it indicated both modesty and pleasure.

“Thank you”, he heard her say. He watched her coming forth, then turn and show the rear part of the dress, as well as her fabulous _B-side_ , which was elegantly stressed by the shape of the dress.

“Perfect”, he stated, “Simply perfect.”  

He saw her giving him a glance over the shoulder and her brown eyes – _sexy Italian eyes_ , as Richard loved calling them – had an unmistakable naughty expression: Vivien knew _exactly_ how much he liked her _B-side_. What a rascal…

When she returned with the second gown, the romantic amethyst one, Richard felt enchanted.

“You look like a fairy tale princess”, he declared, bewitched. This time she didn’t blush:

“And sure enough I _feel_ like a fairy tale princess”, she affirmed in a moved tone.

The third one, the ultramarine, was sexier than the other ones, but in a discreet and classy way. Richard felt suddenly hot and, under his devouring gaze, Vivien felt a burning flush, too.

When the young woman came back, again _in civilian clothes_ , Lauren hanged the three gowns in plain sight and asked her:

“So, have you been able to make a choice?”

Vivien turned to Richard:

“What do you think? Which is the one you like most?”

“You are fantastic in all”, Richard stated, “We take them all.”

“Richard!”, Vivien turned pale, “I haven’t all that money to spend…”, she added in a low voice, urgently. He smiled at her reassuringly:

“Allow me to get you a present.”

She literally gaped. He already got her presents, but never something so expensive.

“I can’t accept it”, she whispered, embarrassed. The truth was that she would have greatly loved to own all those three amazing gowns, but she didn’t feel comfortable about allowing him to spend such a sum: she had well seen the price tags. 

“I insist”, he said, “What’s about having all that money, if I cannot make a nice present to the woman I love?”

Lauren smiled: it was simply splendid to see those two together, so in love with each other. She was an admirer of Richard Armitage and thought he deserved a woman who loved him like that brunette did. Obviously, she felt a touch of envy, but it was a benevolent one.

“Not to speak about that, once we begin, there will be other occasions where you’ll need an evening dress and you certainly cannot come every time with the same”, Richard added, “From now on, I want you always by my side, if it’s just possible.”

“Oh Richard…”, Vivien whispered, overwhelmed. Unable to speak more, she just nodded, indicating her acceptance.

“Well, Lauren”, Richard said at this point, “please prepare all three dresses. Here’s my credit card”, he added, handing her the plastic coated card. He didn’t even ask the amount: he didn’t care, Vivien deserved everything he could afford. Since he hit the headlines, at first in the UK with his prevalently television performances and now worldwide with his last movie, he met only women who were interested in him just as a prominent celebrity, rich and famous, and if at the beginning he was flattered, soon it ended up irritating, if not disgusting him; Vivien had been the first one after a long time to treat him like a common man. With the highest simplicity, she immediately declared to be a fan of his and to feel very excited to meet him, and asked him an autograph; but then from fan she became his friend and finally his lover, almost without interruption, and even if she continued to be his hot fan – _very_ hot, in the bedroom, he remembered with a warm shiver – she still treated him like a normal person, which made him feel good like no other woman had made him before.

Lauren informed them that the gowns would be delivered at home in three working days; Vivien asked to send them at her work, where she could be more reachable, and the clerk took a note of the address.

When they reached the car – a reddish purple Jaguar sedan – suddenly Vivien pushed Richard toward the side of it and pressed herself against him, her hands on his chest. Lifting her head to look him in the eyes, she talked in a low voice:

“If your intention was to impress me, Armitage, you succeeded completely.”

Recovering from the surprise, Richard laughed softly and took her hands in his, lifting them to his lips.

“I’m happy I did”, he stated, with that baritone voice of him, so incredibly sexy she melted away each time she heard it like snow in the sun; but she, too, had several strings to her bow. She cheekily rubbed herself against him and murmured in a provocative tone:

“Later I’ll thank you _properly_ …”  

He closed his eyes, breathless, while the pressure went sky high and a certain part of his body began to harden: Vivien was really a great rascal, when she wanted to…! Not that he wanted her different, anyway…

He opened his eyes again and tightened his embrace in order to stop her. His expression became suddenly earnest.

“Not that I regret it, mind you”, he said seriously, “but it wasn’t _this_ my purpose. I… only want to make you happy.”

Vivien froze and sobered, too, while her heart beat hard in her chest. _Really_ wasn’t it a dream, that this man, so handsome and charming, rich and famous wanted her, _precisely_ her? Sudden tears of deep feeling welled in her eyes.

“I know”, she breathed, “And you’re good at it. I love you.”

Richard bent his head and kissed her tenderly.

“I love you, too”, he said in a low voice. They stayed like that for a little time, then, knowing they could be paparazzi-ed every moment, they divided and got in the car.

*   *   *

In the morning of the big day, Vivien went to the hairdresser and got herself an elegant hairdo with a chignon and curls, fitting to the gown she had chosen, the amethyst one; in the afternoon she went to the beautician for a professional makeup – for the second time in her life, as the first one had been when she acted as Vanessa’s bridesmaid. She was good at put on her own makeup, but this certainly was an event for which a professional makeup was required, apt to resist perfectly for many hours.

Richard rented a car with driver, both to have not to worry about parking and to give Vivien an adequately triumphal entrance. She would be photographed from every angle, probably even more than himself, because her appearance by his side, for the first time in an official event, would stir much curiosity and a bunch of gossip.

Before getting in the car, Richard asked which side they would get off, in order to be the first one and help his lady, being the perfect gentleman he was.

On the way, Vivien felt her anxiety skyrocketing; she felt like falling short of breath and placed a hand on her chest.

“Oh goodness Richard, I’m afraid I can’t make it…”, she said, a panic tone in her voice. He quickly put his arm around her shoulders.

“Sure you’ll make it”, he reassured her, “You’re so gorgeous that you’ll knock them all out at first sight.”

Vivien shook her head, signing her disagreement: she was aware of being pretty enough, but she vanished compared to the dazzling beauty of most of the women hanging out in Richard’s milieu, actresses and models and singers, or international jet set figures. And that evening there would be many of them.

“Yes you will”, Richard insisted, putting a finger under her chin to make her lift her face and look at him, “Do you trust me?”, he went on. She blinked: what kind of a question was that? _Of course_ she trusted him…! She nodded.

“Fine”, he concluded, laying a kiss on her lips, soft so not to ruin her lipstick, “Then trust me if I say that all will be perfectly well and you’ll have a sensational success.”

His voice, which she loved so much, had such a calm and convinced tone, that Vivien suddenly relaxed and recovered her self-confidence, which for a moment she had lost. She kissed him in return.

“Agreed, Armitage”, she said in a determined tone. Richard smiled: he thought it really sexy when Vivien called him by surname.

About twenty minutes later they reached the location where the party for the award ceremony would take place. Richard got off the car and immediately the photographers, who were positioned on both sides of the red carpet leading to the palace ntrance, began to shoot, while the flashes of their cameras came thick and hard. A large number of security agents controlled the crowd milling around the reporters. Some shrieks – most feminine – rose from the throng.

Richard shook his arm, greeting everybody, letting his splendid smile blossom, a smile that sent his female fans swooning – among them Vivien, too; then he turned toward her and offered her his hand, helping her getting off the car. A surprised murmur rose from the crowd, while the flashes multiplied. Dazed, Vivien made an uncertain step on the high heels of her elegant white sandals, and Richard promptly took her by the arm, guiding and supporting her.

It was not considered, in that occasion, that the star of the evening would stop and sign autographs or to let people take pictures with him; Richard was sorry about this, because he loved his audience, to which he was grateful for the affection it bestowed him and to which he was aware to owe his success, but it was not up to him to decide. The security service had been organized this way and it would not be fair nor prudent to turn the tables. Therefore, he only greeted right, left and centre, throwing his smile around, bombarded by the flashes of the professional and non professional cameras and by the lights of the television cameras of the BBC and other broadcasting stations, British and foreign.

“But he _entire world_ is here!”, Vivien whispered, shocked, seeing the German ARD, the Austrian ORF, the Italian RAI, the American NBC, the New Zealander TVNZ and other ones she didn’t know.

“So it seems”, Richard agreed, speaking under his breath and smiling reassuringly at her; their exchange of gazes caused a storm of flashes. While they reached the staircase leading to the entrance, a journalist shouted:

“Mr Armitage, how’s your lady?”

Like the autographs, not even questions were considered; but Richard liked this one because it wasn’t the banal _who’s your lady_ , but rather asked _how_ she was. He turned toward the direction he had heard the shout and answered in a high voice:

“ _Adorable_!”

Screams of approval came from the crowd, while Vivien turned purple. She wondered if the would ever got used to Richard’s compliments, until now private but seemingly destined to become public.

She didn’t think she would.

*   *   *

As Richard had predicted, the evening was a personal success for Vivien. Initially they treated her very formally, even if with courtesy: at any rate, she was the lady of the evening’s celebrity, but she was a stranger to all; but after some time their dining companions, charmed by her brilliant conversation and by her natural verve – which she regained once she went beyond the awkwardness she felt because she was so close to so many VIPs – they became positively cordial and even warm, so that before the end of the dinner their table was the one from which laughing rose the most.

“Richard, you’ve found a pearl!”, complimented sir Jonathan Woodward, one of the members of the jury who assigned the prize. Richard looked at Vivien, who was talking about Hypatia of Alexandria with Rachel Weisz, icon of the British cinema who performed her on the big screen, feeling enormously proud.

“I know, thank you”, he confirmed, nodding emphatically.

The moment when he collected the prize was very thrilling for Richard: in fact, it was no less than the Prince of Wales’ son and future King of England to deliver it, William Windsor in person.

And so the dreaded moment of the thanksgiving speech had come; Richard had decided to follow through and through Vivien’s advice.

“Thanks”, he said, “Thank you everybody”, he admired the prize, an elegant crystal cup delicately carved, then he set it down and looked at the audience, “Usually I don’t know what to say, in these circumstances, save _thank you_ , as I just did. And this makes me feel uncomfortable, because I’m an actor, and as such one supposes that I won’t ever be short of words, as somebody remarked to me recently”, some chuckles rose from the audience, which encouraged him to continue, “This same person, to whom I confided my trouble, encouraged me not to bother with set-up speeches and to be spontaneous. Well, I followed her advice and I didn’t write down anything. I want to tell you all that I am highly honoured to receive this prestigious prize, no, it’s more, I am happy, euphoric even, because I didn’t expect a commendation of such a high level. I am proud to be able to be ambassador to my country in the world, particularly with a character like Thorin Oakenshield, born of the literary genius of an excellent fellow countryman like John Tolkien. Therefore thank you, thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

The audience burst into a deafening applause, showing that his speech had been appreciated. The president of the jury and of the Royal Cinematographic Society, Emma Nightingale, who stood next to the dais, approached the microphone and spoke.

“A really  nice speech, Mr Armitage, for someone who declared himself practically a blunderer”, she joked, “Can we learn the name of the person who, as far as it seems, inspired you?”  

“Sure”, Richard accepted, “She’s miss Vivien Grosworth, my fiancée.”

He said exactly that way: _fiancée_. For a moment, whilst another applause exploded, Vivien felt like fainting; but no, she thought, forcing herself to appear casual, it was only a way of saying. Both were beyond forty years old and if he would describe her like his _girlfriend_ it could sound ridiculous. And anyway in the star system, when two were together, they were always _fiancés_ , but in this case the word didn’t necessarily imply a promise or intention of marriage.

The official photographers of the evening hurried to shoot some other picture of Vivien sitting at the table, and as Richard returned they asked and obtained to shoot some more pictures of the two together. Vivien was aware that she wasn’t really photogenic – dark circles appeared constantly under her eyes – and she wished that the photographers would be so kind to photoshop the images to eliminate the flaws. Oh well, if they wouldn’t, they wouldn’t, thought she then, laughing at herself about her vanity.

*   *   *

Finally the evening drew to an end; Vivien and Richard got again on the rented car, the driver of which had awaited them patiently, and went back home to her place, where they intended to spend the night.

Vivien went immediately upstairs in her room to change, hiding a mischievous grin: she planned to surprise Richard. She had purchased a magnificent nightie with matching nightgown, ankle-long and elegantly sexy, in very transparent silk and lace. She ordered it via web in Italy and it had costed her a small fortune, but it was worth: in all her life, she had never worn something like this for a man… but Richard was special. Under it she put on white lace panties and looking at herself in the mirror, with no makeup and her hair down, she almost burst into laughter: she never played the _femme fatale_ when she was twenty, and she did it now that she was over forty? What a folly… and yet she felt comfortable, because she was doing it for the man she loved with everything she had.

*   *   *

On the ground floor, Richard had lied down on the couch, eyes shut and a tired expression on his face. He had taken off his jacket and bowtie, and freed himself from shoes and socks.

Hearing Vivien coming downstairs, he opened his eyes, but he was turned to the opposite side and couldn’t see her.

“These kind of parties exhaust me, physically and psychologically…”, he mumbled, undoing a couple of buttons of his shirt.

Vivien’s shoulders fell because of the disappointment: she prepared for a fiery night and he declared to be too tired?? Frustrated, she made a face, but she quickly composed herself again: well, she couldn’t certainly force him, it meant only that they would postpone it until the next morning. After all, it would be Sunday and they could stay in bed the whole day…

“If you’re tired, you’d be better come and sleep”, she invited him therefore, approaching him. Out of the corner of his eye, Richard caught a white flash and contorted on the couch to see what it was about.

What he saw froze him on the spot; his eyes opened wide and he gaped, staring at Vivien in that cloud of white silk and lace.

Seeing his reaction, Vivien felt suddenly very hot; she never thought to be a particularly lustful woman, but Richard sent her hormones reeling with just a glance. She felt like never having enough of him, not only physically, but sentimentally, too. She didn’t have sex with him, she _made love_ with him.

Richard recovered and popped up like a spring; in his eyes blazed a smouldering fire.

“I’m not _that_ tired”, he declared, a smirk on his lips so allusive it turned her knees into jelly.

Richard finished unbuttoning his shirt; involuntarily, Vivien’s gaze slipped on his muscular torso, down to his flat stomach, along the dark line of hair which disappeared under the belt toward a part of his body she liked particularly, and the thought of which made her burn in desire.  

Under her gaze, Richard felt his blood boil; with a single step of his very long legs, he approached her and was about to take her in his arms, when she stopped him by laying a hand on his chest. Surprised, he paused; she lifted her eyes and looked at him, and Richard lost himself in those brown irises which were flaming with desire. He almost didn’t notice that Vivien was pulling down his shirt along his arms, until it fell on the floor. Then he emerged from his trance and laid his hands on her shoulders, slowly drawing back her nightgown; a moment later, the garment wilted on the carpet in a soft pile of transparent silk.

“You’re incredibly beautiful”, Richard whispered, encircling her face with his hands and holding it like something fragile and precious, “I wonder what I’ve done to deserve your love…”

 _He_ wondered, considered Vivien, overwhelmed. What about _her_ , then…?

Richard bent down and laid his mouth on hers, and Vivien wasn’t able to think coherently any longer. She felt his tongue brush against the junction of her lips and immediately parted them, eager to deepen the kiss. She surrounded his waist with her arms, squeezing herself against him; she felt his virile hardness push against her belly and, responding to it, a wave of heat blossomed in her womb. Goodness, no other man, in her whole life, ever had such a devastating effect on her, being able to turn her into a kind of Anaïs Nin with a flaming _delta of Venus_ …

The long nightie finished up like the nightgown, piling up around her feet. Richard wrapped her into his arms, pressing her against his body, eager to feel on himself her soft curves. He caressed her back under the silken fall of her brown and wavy hair, down to her slender waist, then past it along the exciting curve of her buttocks, wrapped in those tiny lace panties. With his thumbs, he clasped its sides and began to lower them; he left her lips, laying a series of soft, exciting kisses on her neck, chest, breasts, abdomen, bending down while gradually slipping her panties along her beautiful legs, down to her ankles. He pulled away and she lifted one foot, then the other, to allow him to take off the garment. Richard stayed there, one knee on the floor, and lifted his eyes, looking upward at all of her. His throat went completely dry and he had to swallow a couple of times.

Vivien lowered her gaze and met Richard’s eyes, which were similar to blue fire, incandescent like lava. If earlier she felt hot, now she burst on fire.

“Make love to me, Richard”, she implored him”, Make love to me _now_ …”

Her feminine depths were seething and throbbing, flaring up in a desire which wasn’t just physical; it instilled into her heart and soul, flesh and sentiment inseparable one from the other, matter and emotions becoming one single thing.

Richard felt no different; he seized her by the waist, firmly but kindly, and made her sit on the couch. He positioned himself between her knees, then he took again her lips in a fiery kiss, caressing her arms down to the wrists; he grasped her hands, put them around his neck and embraced her tight, her naked breasts pressed against his chest. Both began to feel short of breath while he plunged his face into the mass of her long hair, smelling of vanilla.

Then Richard pushed Vivien gently against the pillows; he bent his head and took a nipple between his lips, sucking and nibbling it delicately. She started, whilst pleasure waves irradiated from the tips of her breasts to the throbbing centre of her body.

Richard moved and descended even lower, caressing her trembling abdomen with the tip of his fingers, down, down, until he reached the dark curls adorning her secret garden, moist with desire. He touched it softly, skilfully, exciting and delicate at the same time; and then came his lips, and a small cry escaped Vivien’s throat as she felt him brushing her lightly, sweet and sensual together. She gave off an unarticulated moan, her head spinning, her breath laboured. She wouldn’t stand it much longer before going off and explode…

As if he had sensed it, Richard pulled away. He adored to make her crazy with want, but often this turned against him, because the more he excited her, the more he got excited himself, and indeed even now he was dangerously approaching the edge of the abyss.

“Look at me, Vivien”, he said in a soft voice.

The sound of his baritone voice, so sexy and vibrant of desire, sent a warm shiver down her body. Vivien opened her eyes and did as he had asked, looking at him and feeling like drowning in those marvellous blue irises. Ohgodsoftheolympus how much did she love him…  

Richard had his belt unbuckled and his pants and shorts lowered; he would have liked to take off all clothes, but this meant to distance himself too much from Vivien’s soft body, so he gave it up. Staring into her eyes, slowly he entered her, slipping inch by inch into her warm recesses. He saw her open her lips into an ecstatic “o” and that view moved him so much he almost lost control.

Vivien welcomed Richard with a sigh of both pleasure and relief: if he would have waited some more time to take her, she would have certainly fainted for too much desire. But now he was there, inside her, _with_ her: she lifted her legs and crossed her ankles around Richard’s waist, making him sink even more into her. He gave off a groan of pleasure and hold her even tighter. He began to move, back and forth; for a dizzying moment, he was caught by a crave, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to go slow, to not consume the moment in one single blazing explosion and to make it last as long as possible. In his arms, Vivien moaned and trembled and invoked his name in a hypnotic litany which pushed him to the peak, as much as her warm feminine depths wrapping him tightly.

Vivien felt like dragged into a vortex, swamped away by a cyclone. Her whole body was bursting up in flames and trembled uncontrollably, responding to the solicitations of Richard’s body. By now they had made love a sufficient number of times to know well each other’s reactions, nonetheless she felt thrilled like the first time, if not even more. So far, they never made it on the couch: maybe it was that, the originality of the place? But no, it couldn’t be such a prosaic reason… it was something more, something deep inside their souls and hearts.

They never stopped looking into each other’s eyes, like molten chocolate hers, like blazing ice his. Thrust upon thrust, they climbed the peaks of pleasure, one summit after another, higher, higher, until they reached the top in a blinding explosion which shook them so deeply, in body and soul, to leave them dazed. They collapsed into each other’s arms, no more strength in them.

Richard sank his face into the hollow between Vivien’s shoulder and neck, his lips pressed against the tender skin of her throat, where he could perceive her erratic pulse. He felt in paradise, and not only for the physical sensations: Vivien made him feel good, peaceful, content… happy. He would never thank enough the destiny for having him meet her.

Realizing she had planted her nails in his shoulders, Vivien relaxed her hands, laying them flat on his back. Slowly, the rumble of her own blood in her ears subsided, whilst her breath went back to normal. She felt euphoric, almost drunk. It was always so, in Richard’s arms: she felt like being no longer in this world, but in another dimension, where dreams become reality. If this was a dream, she wanted to never ever wake up…

Richard moved, lifting himself enough to be able to look into her eyes. There was so much love in that gaze, so much tenderness and warmth, to be more eloquent than any verbal _I love you._

And suddenly she knew it wasn’t a dream, but it was instead an incredibly marvellous reality which surpassed all her fantasies. She wouldn’t wake up, because she wasn’t sleeping.

She smiled and kissed him.

  

 

_Lady Angel_

  

 

If you liked this story – my style, and the male protagonist – maybe you would like the other one, ideal sequel to this, entitled “A Christmas gift”.

 

 

 


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